A New Game
by crafty jack rabbit
Summary: As Katniss and Peeta attempt to rebuild their lives after returning to District 12, they're dragged back into a new type of game, one that will shake Panem to its very core and threaten its existence. Post-Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own the Hunger Games, I'm simply a fan. Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is District 12. I was in two Hunger Games. I survived. I was the Mockingjay, symbol of the rebellion. I survived. I killed President Coin. I was pardoned due to insanity. Now, I just try to survive…_

This is a technique Dr. Aurelius taught me when I was recovering in District 13 after escaping the Quarter Quell. After the rebellion ended, I was pardoned and sent back to District 12. At that point, I thought was doomed to an existence that I could never recover from. He advised me to go through the motions and follow a set routine. It seems to be working; I don't spend all my days in the bed or closet…

The book that Peeta and I have been making for the past few months has been helping us both greatly. We even receive visits from Haymitch so he can make his own random contribution. Over the past few months, we've been able to rebuild our lives. Most importantly, at least to me, it has brought Peeta closer to me.

Ever since his return to District 12, our relationship has had its ups and down. At first, it was awkward between us and we've kept our distance from each other for various reasons. And Peeta was still recovering from his hijacking. Whenever he suffered a flashback created by the false memories, he would grab onto furniture to ride it out and shake furiously. It took a lot of energy out of him to fight off the wave of terror that still remained in his mind.

If it wasn't Peeta having the problems, then it was me, Katniss, the girl on fire. I constantly had nightmares, terrible ones that would wake me in the middle of the night, screaming out for help. Sometimes, it was difficult for me to distinguish the difference between dreams and reality, resulting in my own reclusions. I would either remain in my bed, wrapped in my blankets, or find a cozy closet to hide in.

Then we, Peeta and I, started working on a book. This book was composed of important people and memories of past events and experiences. It was hard sometimes. The pain of reliving some of the more traumatic events often forced us to the stop. However, as each day passed, it became easier and easier for us to cope. Peeta would create amazing drawings and paintings if we were unable to find photographs, and it was my job to write down every last detail that came to our minds, in case we ever forgot.

After a couple of weeks, we managed to sober Haymitch enough for him to tell us his own stories and experiences. Then, I finally understood all of the pain bottled up in Haymitch. All of the pain he had to endure since winning his Quarter Quell. The oppression. The mentoring. The loss. And the boozes and liquor made sense. I'm not sure if I agree with his method of grieving, but I'm not one to judge. Instead, I sympathize with him, I really do.

Today, we were working on the book again. I sat on the floor with my legs crossed and back resting against the edge of the couch. Peeta lay on his stomach next to me, working on a sketch of the oyster and pearl he found during our Quarter Quell. It was his third attempt. This is one of the most important things to me, so I make sure he gets it right. He doesn't complain, but I can tell he's a little frustrated, not with me but with himself. I tell it's not his fault and apologize every time. He simply nods and works ever so diligently. Without him watching, I carefully put my right hand into the pocket of my pants and fiddle with the pearl. Greasy Sae has attached a small gold chain to it, but I'm reluctant to wear it for some reason.

"There," he moans in admiration and defeat. "I don't think I can make it any better." The parchment is carefully slid to me and I pick it up to examine. The sketch instantly brings me back to the Quarter Quell, but I'm not scared or threatened. On the contrary, it makes me feel warm and complete. It was a horrible time, but there were sparse moments of happiness, relaxing on the beach was one of them.

"It's perfect," I smile softly.

"No," Peeta replies in kind. "But you are." I look up from the paper and see his wonderful smile. It's quite a phenomenon. It's amazing how a person can have such an effect on another. My smile becomes bigger as I remember Peeta's words to Haymitch when we were in Capitol a couple of years ago, "She has no idea. The effect she can have."

I lean forward from the couch and cup my right hand along the left side of his face, brushing my thumb across his cheek. While we been able to have casual conversations since we began working on this book, we've kept physical contact at a minimum. I was either frightened to touch another person due to my nightmares, or Peeta was too afraid he might try to kill me again. However, this time, I don't care. He doesn't respond by backing away, instead, his left hand comes up and clasps mine gently. The warmth created by his cheek and hand is revitalizing.

Then his hand tightens, not enough to cause pain, but enough to force me to retract it. I look into his eyes and register the pain. _Stupid, why did you do that?_ I punish myself for being so quick to terror. Then I notice the glaze over them and tears developing at the corners of his eyes. He's having another flashback.

"Stay with me." The words fly out of my mouth as I lunge towards him. He tries to pull away before I can reach him, but I'm too fast. My arms wrap around him, firmly but also gently. The tremors slowly stop as he regains his grasp of reality. His arms grab onto mine, not to remove them but to use them as support. An anchor.

"Always," he whispers into my shoulder, he's panting softly. For some reason, his warm breath incites me, but I keep my composure. I merely try to sooth him with a calm voice as I caress his head with my left hand. We sit there for about an hour, and I realize I never want to leave. I don't want to break this moment, but we have to when we hear the lock of my front door being unhinged. Peeta is the first to pull away. He pauses for a moment and looks me in the eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes, I could get lost in those eyes.

"Hello?" Greasy Sae calls out as she forces the door open.

"We're in here," Peeta replies. He brushes a hand across my cheek before standing up, leaving me to regain my own bearings. The smell of lamb stew enters the living room and attacks my senses. My mouth begins to salivate as I bolt up and realize I've forgotten to eat lunch. I looked out the window and saw that the sun had almost set. Ever since I started rebuilding my life, I always made it a point to watch the sun set, but today, I didn't bother me that I missed it.

"Working on your book?" she asks, I can hear the suggestive tone in her voice. I attempt to pay it no attention, but fail to prevent my face from blushing or to hide Peeta's slightly confused expression.

"Is that what I think it is?" I try to change the subject. Then Peeta registers the smell of the lamb stew, I notice the change in his posture.

"Yes," she smiles. "I received a nice container of lamb from the Capitol this morning. I remember it was your favorite from the interviews." Greasy Sae makes her way to the kitchen and places the giant pot on the stove. She removes four bowls from the cupboard and aligns them on the counter for filling.

"I'll get Haymitch and some fresh bread," Peeta shouts quickly as he runs for the door. The enthusiasm in his voice warms my heart and causes me to smile.

"So," Greasy Sae says as she pours the first bowl.

"So, what?" I respond cautiously, eying her for a reaction, as I set up the table.

"So, today a good day?" she finishes.

"Very." By the time I finish setting the table with utensils and napkins, I hear the front door open again with Haymitch, a bottle in hand, and Peeta, a bag of bread in his. It surprises me to see that Haymitch isn't drunk; well, he might be tipsy, but he's certainly not drunk. Maybe the thought of lamb stew has awakened him from his stupor.

"I could smell it from the street," Haymitch answers my thoughts as he takes a seat closest to the pot. I doubt it at first, but then I remember that Hazelle has been keeping it relatively clean since our return. She was one of the first to return from District 13 once the rebellion was over, along with her family, but not Gale. That's another matter. Then again, Haymitch may have also been outside feeding his geese.

"He's being serious," Peeta supports as he takes a seat next to me. "I didn't have to wake him up or anything, he was already at the front door. It took me more time to gather the bread from my oven." He empties the bread from the stitched bag into the wooden bowl in the middle of the table. I inhale deeply through my nose, the mixture of the lamb stew and baked bread cause my stomach to grumble, but I don't care.

"Someone's hungry," Greasy Sae teases as she places a bowl of lamb stew in front of me. "I'm sorry, I didn't have any dried plums on me."

"No, don't worry about it," I take a small spoonful of the warm broth. It sends fireworks through my mouth, tantalizing my taste buds. I have to do everything to prevent myself from engulfing the whole bowl before the others can even get a taste. "It's amazing."

"It is," Peeta assures her as he dips a piece of bread into the stew. I watch it absorb the soup, the white chunks of bread turn into a soft brown. I quickly follow suit.

"What are you doing?" Greasy Sae says, apprehension in her voice. After taking a bite of the bread, I look towards Haymitch and see him uncapping his bottle.

"What?" Haymitch responds. "It gives it a nice kick." Before he can pour a single drop into the lamb stew, Greasy Sae grabs the bottle from him. He attempts to stand up, guessing he could display some form of dominance, but she puts her hand up to stop him.

"Try it first," she says sternly to him. I watch Haymitch calculate the odds of coming out as the victor in this confrontation. So do I. Remember, he was the victor of the second Quarter Quell. He comes to the same conclusion as I and sits back into his chair. She gives him a nod. Carefully, he dips his spoon in to the soup and sips it, begrudgingly. Then he changes his tune. It only takes a second before his face is almost buried into the bowl, devouring it. Greasy Sae sits back, a smile of accomplishment on her face. It's probably Haymitch's first meal without the help of liquor since our return.

"How's the book coming along?" Haymitch asks as he finishes the bowl, licking his spoon.

"Well," Peeta answers for me. "We've almost finished using up the paper Dr. Aurelius sent Katniss. She'll have to order another batch soon." I smile at the thought of creating a second volume. The book has really gotten me back on track of living. It's been difficult, but it makes each day a little easier to live, not just survive.

"That's wonderful. What do you think about renaming District 12?" Greasy Sae asks as she fills up Haymitch's second bowl. This throws me for a loop. Rename District 12? Why would people want to rename our home? These questions bombard my mind, filling it with confusion and curiosity.

"Why?" Peeta asks. I look up from my stew and notice the similar expression of confusion on his face.

"Some say it'll help us move on," she replies as she pours another ladle of soup into Peeta's bowl. "It's one of the new Initiatives."

"Initiatives?" I ask this time. I've managed to find my tongue.

"It's amazing how little you two are aware of," Haymitch mutters as he presses his lips against the edge of the bowl, he's given up using the spoon. The only utensil left at his disposal is the fork so he could pick at the lamb that remained in the bowl. Greasy Sae gives him a look of disgust and answers for him.

"The Initiatives are part of the Treaty of Unification between the Capitol and the Districts. There are six of them and one of them allows the Districts to rename themselves if the populace chooses to. They can either keep their numerical value or opt for a new name. Some view this as the final break from the old ways. I'm not sure how I feel about it."

It makes sense when I think about it, and who wouldn't want to change it? But it is hard for me to fathom the thought of renaming District 12, my home. No matter what happened, however, I'll always think of this place as District 12, regardless of the good and the bad. "What are the other terms?"

Haymitch decides to answer this one. "Well, the First one was the unconditional surrender of the Capitol and reimbursements to the Districts to cover the costs of the rebellion. Obviously, they had more than enough. The Second was the name changes. The Third Initiative was the lift on trade restrictions and sanctions between the Districts. While there is a Capitol tax placed on all goods traded, the Districts get to negotiate their own deals and terms every three years.

"Each District can elect two officials to represent them at the Capitol. Along with the Capitol's Council, they decide how to run Panem. This includes creating policies and writing laws. The Districts finally have a say. Lastly, each District is allowed to have its own standing army and separate police force." This is followed with an awful silence between us as we contemplate the consequences and ramifications of the Initiatives, primarily the Fifth Initiative. Would it be such a bad thing? I mean, now each District can defend itself in case the Capitol decides to break the Treaty. No more Peacekeepers. No more Capitol oppression. It seems like a win to me.

"It's dangerous," Peeta breaks the silence and my train of thought. "It might tempt the Districts to go to war with each other." What he says takes a while to sink in. If a dispute were to rise between two Districts, how long would it take before a war breaks out? Imagine if multiple Districts were involved. Could Panem survive another war? I doubt it. We remain quiet, again, as we think about the future.

"We'll just have to hope those in charge aren't stupid, then," Greasy Sae says as she gathers the empty bowls from the table. "I mean, if cool heads prevail, we won't have nothing to worry about, now would we." What she says brings me some comfort, but not enough to quench my fears. When have humans ever been sensible?

"Wait," I stop her as she turns on the sink faucet. "What about the Sixth?"

"Oh, that was not part of the original Treaty," Haymitch responds. "It was rectified after the assassination of President Coin." I've seen the worst of humanity, and I believe Coin was one of the few that people embodied it. I mean, almost a year ago, Coin tried to hold one more Hunger Games. I voted "yes" at the time since I was still grieving for Prim and she had taken advantage of my condition. I wasn't positive if that would have been the last one. What would stop her from hosting another Games the year after that and so on? I guess I don't have to worry about that since I killed her during Snow's execution. At least I managed to stop one horror from occurring.

"What was the change?" Peeta asks.

"After Katniss killed Coin, the possibility of having another Hunger Games was discussed during the emergency hearing. One of President Paylor's terms was banning of any and all future Hunger Games. That was the Sixth Initiative, it overrode the victor's vote." This brings me great comfort and I see it has the same effect on Peeta.

Greasy Sae and Haymitch leave an hour later, after all the bowls and utensils have been washed and dried. It would have been much shorter if we didn't have to waste time on Haymitch. He wouldn't stop asking for more servings of the lamb stew and he was always adamant he wanted more. Greasy Sae had to promise him that she would bring him a pot every week for the next month to make him leave. However, she wouldn't let him take this pot. This pot was for Peeta and me.

About an hour after Haymitch and Greasy Sae left my house, Peeta has another flashback. It isn't that bad, at least, that's what he tells me. It takes a few seconds and the aid of the table for Peeta to stay in control. After he regains his composure, we pick up from where we left off and take a seat on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. The television is on, the channel is airing a cartoon series that is more than 100 years old. I've never seen it before; then again, I've never had a television before until after the Games. However, we don't pay it much attention anyways. We simply enjoy each other's company.

After about an hour, I look up for a moment and see that Peeta has fallen asleep. A smile creeps across my face and somehow, one crosses his face as well. He grunts quietly and buries his face gently into my shoulder and neck. The warm breath from his nose tickles, but I like it very much. I push him away for a second so I can lie down and then pull him back next to me. Our legs intertwine, and his arms wrap around me. I finally fall asleep and am met with no nightmares, just happy dreams.

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><p><em>AN: Hope you guys enjoyed the read, and please review. Would love the feedback. The first few chapters will be focused on establishing relationships and the condition of Panem, and then we'll get this ball rolling. I'll update soon! Until next time._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is District 12. I was in two Hunger Games. I survived. Panem has changed and continues to change. Peeta is spending the nights with me, and we continue to grow ever closer. Now, I believe I have a chance for happiness…_

Several things have changed in Panem over the past couple of weeks. The Second Initiative of the Treaty of Unification took effect. The populaces of about half the Districts voted to keep their numerical values. This didn't surprise me at all, it was expected a matter of fact. Especially for Districts like 2, where those with power still hold a torch to the days of the Games. However, I wonder why 13 wouldn't want to cut its ties from the past, but I digress.

The remaining Districts managed to change their names with overwhelming support from the majority. District 1 is Calgary; 3 is Silica; 4 is Oceana but the people call themselves Finnicians in honor of Finnick Odair, I'm positive Annie is nothing but smiles; 6 is Columbia; 9 is Dakota; and 11 is Antebell. Even my District 12 changed its name, it's now known throughout Panem as Appalachia.

Just like Greasy Sae, I didn't care if 12 changed its name, but I'd be lying if I didn't feel a tinge of remorse. Peeta, on the other hand, was pleased with the name change. For him and many others, it was a step forward. He needed this and I had no intention of taking it away from him. However, he knew little about the name's origins, so I had to explain it to him. It turned out Peeta often fell asleep when our teachers discussed history.

It was times like these I wished we were friends at school, it would have been much more enjoyable. District 12 is located in a region that was once known as Appalachia, a place that was also heavily mined for coal, thus the miners have to dig so deep. Now they utilize machines developed by District 3, I mean Silica. It's much safer, but they had to spend a month learning how to use the new equipment properly. Now accidents are rare to virtually nonexistent.

Over the past two weeks, my relationship with Peeta has greatly improved. He now spends every night with me, sharing my bed. The trauma caused by the Games and the rebellion plagued me with nightmares. If I was lucky, they only lasted for a few hours. Since Peeta started sleeping with me, like the times on the train and in the Capitol, the nightmares are almost gone and I'm blessed with a restful night of sleep.

If I do wake up, Peeta is there to comfort me. And the same goes for Peeta when he experiences his flashbacks and his frequent nightmares about losing me. My fear of his flashbacks has long subsided. Instead, I hold him tightly in my arms to console him so he can calm down. Even though our relationship lacks definition—I'm sure we'll eventually cross that bridge—the arrangement works. I'm not afraid to fall asleep at night and Peeta's not afraid to wake up in the morning.

"What are we doing?" Peeta asks me as he brushes the hair against my neck, he knows I'm awake. The sensation of his fingers intertwined in my hair sends chills through my body, but I also cringe when I realize today is the day we cross that bridge.

"What do you mean?" I attempt to play the fool and back into his arms.

"I mean," Peeta tries to explain. He hasn't picked up on my feint. "Where do you see us? This relationship, what are we doing? I mean… are we a couple?"

I don't push away when I address his concerns, but I do create some space so I can turn around to face him. I prop myself up on my elbow and rest my head on my open palm. "I'm not sure," I admit. My stomach begins to churn as I work it out myself and fight the building urge to flee. Flashbacks? Those are things I can handle, but I've always had trouble speaking honestly with him, with anyone actually.

"It's just," I attempt to answer him, fumbling with my words. "I'm afraid I'm too broken. I'm afraid I won't be able to give you what you want." I'm terrible at this, I know it, but I'm trying to be honest. Peeta shows no sign of distress or anguish.

"I'm not," he smiles.

"You're not what?" I question.

"I'm not afraid and neither should you. You're not broken, not really. Even if you can't give me what you _think_ I want, just know that this is enough." He tries to hug me, but I refuse him.

"How can this be enough?" Anger starts to rise in my voice. "Don't patronize me, Peeta. I don't like being manipulated. I've had enough of that for a life time." I place my hand on his chest to push him away.

"Katniss, you know me," he responds defensively. I can see I've hurt him, but I'm too enraged to make an effort to apologize. "I'm not trying to manipulate you. You're happy, and that's all I care about. I don't need you to say it—" There's hesitation in his voice and he stops immediately. But it doesn't take long for me to register what he says and comprehend the meaning of the words not spoken.

"Say what, exactly?" I sit up. Even though I'm wearing a shirt and sweats, I cover myself with the blankets. "You think I can't say, 'I love you?' Is that it? Well, what if I don't love you?" _There it is, Katniss. You had to say something stupid, so incredibly stupid._ I see the pain in his eyes and know I've gone too far. If I was broken after all I've been through, he was probably shattered. It's a miracle that he was laying next to me. It's a miracle he even came back.

"I don't believe that," Peeta replies. I drop my gaze instantly, trying to avoid his eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. "Look at me." There is a sense of urgency in his voice that I attempt to ignore. I'm just too ashamed of my behavior and refuse to lift up my head.

"I'm sorry," I mutter. Tears begin to fill my eyes. "I'm just…I don't know if I can truly give you what you want. I know you say this is enough, but for how long? Weeks? Months? Years? I can't string you—" Before I can speak another word, Peeta presses his lips against mine. I can't remember the last time we kissed but I've missed it. There is force behind his kiss, but it's also full of tenderness and earnest. I don't push him away. Instead, I give in and embrace it.

"It's okay," he gasps between kisses. "You don't need to apologize." The hunger builds up in my stomach once again, how I've missed this sensation. I move myself onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck while his arms move around my lower back.

I break the kiss, momentarily, because I need him to know this. "I care about you, Peeta. I really do. It's just those words…"

"You don't have to explain," Peeta assures me. "I know, deep down, I know you do. You don't have to say it." I nod in agreement and dress his face with kisses.

"And I thought I told you not to manipulate me," I joke.

"I'm sorry," he laughs. "I didn't know it was so easy." I respond by hitting with my pillow but apologize with another kiss. This goes on for a few minutes until we're forced to stop when Peeta notices the time.

He agreed to help Haymitch with his geese and he was going to be late if he didn't leave to get ready. I also had my own plans, I promised Dr. Aurelius I would go hunting today. He'd been trying to work me up to it for a few weeks. Over the past year I've hunted a number of times, but it's been about a month since my last trek through the woods.

My bow feels a little foreign to me. The weight, the grip, everything feels new despite its age.

_Winter is coming_, I think to myself as I button my hunting jacket. There was little snowfall last night and the morning sun is already melting what's left, but the air is still freezing cold. Patches of ice are what remains by the time I reach the edge of the fence, wait, I should say what's left of the fence.

I'm thrown off when I see that the fence that once separated District 12 from the forest is gone. I remember now, according to Greasy Sae, it was melted down and processed for the construction of the medical factories. It's strange seeing the fence has been torn down. _Katniss, you just might truly be free_. I take a seat on a dead stump and spend an hour adjusting to this new feeling.

After I regain my bearings, I begin my exploration of the rejuvenated woods. The fires from the Capitol's bombs have scorched the bark black, but the pines continued to grow long after, decorating the treetops with frost-covered life. Like the trees, most of the animal life has returned. However, squirrels and birds are not my target at the moment. Since food is no longer an issue, I can spend more time on bigger game. I need the practice, obviously, but I'm aiming higher today. That's when I hear a twig snap behind me, it couldn't have been more than a hundred feet away.

I quickly pull my bow off my shoulder harness and reach around to draw an arrow from my quiver. With the old grace I once possessed, I slowly creep through the brush, hunting for the sound. I hear the crunching of foliage; I'm definitely heading in the right direction. My right hand begins to shake in anticipation, just waiting for me to release the arrow. As I crouch under a fallen tree, I see my prey: a full-grown doe. She's slowly picking at a berry bush.

"There you are," I whisper to myself as I adjust my aim. Then I feel the tail feathers brush against my cheek as the wind blows against my back. _Oh no! I'm upwind. Damn it, Katniss. How could you not pick up on that and make such a stupid mistake?_ I can also see my braid blowing in my peripherals. The doe quickly catches my scent and looks up at me. She recognizes the imminent danger and bolts for cover in the bushes. I don't think. I just release the arrow. It flies too far to the right. I draw another arrow and nock it, but I'm too slow.

Instead of letting the doe escape, I give chase. I lower my bow and start sprinting through the woods, trying to get a clear line of sight. It's an amazing sensation that I've longed for but could never find. The fresh air filling my lungs, the burning of energy causing my body to sweat, the blood pumping through my veins, I'm finally alive.

Then I catch the sight of the doe after passing a low-hanging tree, she's about 15 yards in front of me. I bring up my bow and pull back on the string. I inhale quickly but exhale slowly, waiting for the right moment. Then I release the arrow. It flies through the air, but doesn't make contact with my target. It bounces off a tree and lands in the shrubs. I draw once more and release, but miss again. _I really am rusty._

I waste the next two hours tracking this single doe, but my determination and hard work bear no fruit. Even though I failed at hunting her, it was encouraging that I could still have fun in the woods. I then spend the next hour hunting smaller game and manage to get two squirrels and three rabbits. Not a bad day.

As I make it into a clearing, my pace quickens when I approach the rock ledge in the hills. It used to be Gale and my meeting spot when we went hunting. I take a seat on the rock and let my legs dangle off the edge. There is no anger, no pain, and no longing, just relief. I haven't seen or spoken to Gale since leaving the Capitol. Greasy Sae told me he was working in District 2 since then. I'm sure he's happy and content, and I hope, one day, his anger would too subside. It was his fire that drew me to him long ago, but it grew too intense for me. And then there was Prim's death.

Blaming Gale for Prim's death was pointless and juvenile. Even if he was the inspiration behind the bombs, and no matter how heinous, he didn't give the order. He didn't push the button. I didn't even punish Beetee for her death with silence and isolation like Gale. On the contrary, I've spoken to Beetee numerous times on the phone since my return. Then why was I angry with Gale? It's obvious, I hold him to a different standard but I have to let go.

"I'm sorry, Gale," I whisper to myself, trying to release my own anger and contempt. I don't try to imagine what life would have been like if I never partook in the Games. Dr. Aurelius told me it wouldn't help but would hinder my recovery. And I think he's right. It helps no one to think about "what ifs." At least, that's what I tell myself. And one day, I hope to find the strength to apologize to him properly. He deserves that much.

Now, I have Peeta, the boy with the bread. Ever since the Games, he has always been my constant, my rock. I've always tried to draw strength from him and our experiences. I still have the pearl he gave to me during the Quarter Quell, the pearl in my pocket. My hand slides into my trousers and pull out the pearl by its chain. A smile creeps across my lips as I examine it in the afternoon light.

It would be cruel to say that I was stuck with Peeta or to debate he's my only alternative when he's not. No, I chose him. That's why I decided to stay here with him and he chose me. He returned to District 12 after he was released to be with me. Instead of tucking the necklace back into my pocket, I open the clasp and put it around my neck. My fingers trace along the chain to the pearl. I carefully rub its smooth surface and pull open my collar to hide it in my shirt.

I relax for another hour before leaving my rock and make my way back to the Hob. After the rebellion, the entire area was cleared and rebuilt. The Hob remains a market, but it is no longer illegal nor is it held in a warehouse. It's now an open market and free for any trader and merchant to use. Over the past year, it has become one of the primary locations for acquiring food and basic necessities in the District.

Oddly enough, it has become a stopping ground for travelers and tourists of Panem. Along with open trade, a person can now travel between the Districts. The traveler simply has to register and acquire a Passport. With a train ticket, Panem is open to explore. The Hob has become very dense and popular since then.

As I make my way through the market, I feel eyes focusing on me. It's been months since I last visited the Hob, so I'm not surprised. However, the sensation of being watched reminds me of the Games. I hate it. Then a wave of relief washes over me when I stop in front of Greasy Sae's new shop. It's an actual building unlike the portable tables and canopies. The building looks run down despite the fact it's new. The wood used to construct it is composed of the remains of the old Hob.

"Hello?" I ask as I carefully push open the door. The floor is buzzing with hungry miners, construction workers, and travelers. Her clientele has certainly grown. Greasy Sae remains the owner and primary chef, but now she has a number of cooks and waiters working under her. It's amazing how people can build themselves up and it's even more amazing how she found time to take care of us.

"What you doing here, girl," Greasy Sae says sternly from behind the counter, but gives me a smile. "Didn't think I'd see you back here."

"Then to whom would I give these to?" I raise my bag of game and she waves me over. I push through the double doors and cross in to the kitchen. The different smells of the cooked meats and the brewed stews engage my senses. It reminds me of the lamb stew she made for Peeta and me a few weeks ago. It took us two days to finish it and we enjoyed every drop.

"Having fun in the woods I see," she takes the bag and empties it on the chopping block. It takes her a couple of minutes to skin and clean each one. Then she starts to cook them in a new pot that's designated for those that don't care about the meat selection. Or rather, those that shouldn't want to know. "How are you by the way?"

"I'm doing good," I tell her with a bright smile on the face.

"Wonderful. Now get out of here so I can continue cooking. I'll be over later tonight." She grabs the back of my shoulders and gingerly pushes me out of the kitchen. I give her a quick wave before making my way back home.

It takes me an hour to walk home. I contemplated visiting the Seam, but I was deterred when it started to snow. The light from the living room peers through the front windows of my house. I push my key into the lock and turn it open. Warm air escapes into the cold night and it sends goose flesh down my exposed skin. The smell of fresh baked bread fills my nose. I love the smell of cinnamon. It reminds me Peeta.

"You're back," Peeta greets me with a kiss on the forehead. "You're freezing." His grabs the sides of my arms and starts to rub up and down. The friction feels good against my cold arms and I press my head into his chest. I inhale deeply; I love the smell of the cinnamon that's embedded in his clothing.

"I've missed you," I say into his shirt.

"It's only been a few hours," his arms wrap around me. He leads me to couch and grabs a fresh cinnamon role with a napkin as I remove my jacket. I don't wait for him to join me on the couch before taking a bite. A giant smile crosses my face.

"It tastes amazing," I tell him between mouthfuls. It's gone within a minute. He simply laughs and hugs me, but stops. His hands moves for my shirt and presses against the pearl through the fabric. I look up into his eyes, but his are trained on the bulge beneath my collar. His fingers trace along the gold chain, tantalizing my skin, and pulls up on it to reveal the pearl. I see the tears building up in the corners of his eyes.

"You kept it," he says softly. My hands move up to his, cupping them against the pearl and my chest. The heat from his hands radiate against my skin.

"Of course," I reply. He leans forward for a kiss and I happily accept.

We embrace until Greasy Sae comes over with a new batch of stew. She convinces Peeta that the meat is special, straight from the Capitol, but gives me a wink. It's difficult for me so I focus on eating the stew to stifle my laughter. It's not as good as the lamb, of course, but it reminds of a more innocent, and harder, time. A time before the Games.

He hesitates before digging in, he watches Greasy Sae and me devour our respective portions. With a soft sigh, he begins to eat his stew. The meat is foreign to him, but it doesn't stop him from enjoying it. Haymitch must have worked him hard. Or he might have a strange liking for wild game.

Even Buttercup joins us for dinner this time, but quickly leaves for another adventure into the night after having some squirrel. But he'll be back.

"How's your leg, Peeta?" Greasy Sae asks him. I look over at him and wait for a response. I almost forgot Peeta has a prosthetic leg, a _gift_ from the Games. Even when we lay in bed, I barely noticed it. He always wore sweats so I never actually felt the synthetics against my skin and the leg was very similar to his real one.

"It's doing fine," Peeta smiles.

"How does it work exactly?" she asks. I've never questioned him about it myself. I'm not sure if it was due to guilt or due to a lack of curiosity, but not anymore. I want to know as well.

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest." He takes another spoonful of the stew. "It's District 3's work at its finest, and, coincidentally, Beetee helped design the circuitry. The doctors were able to easily attach it to my amputated leg." A tinge of guilt surges through me. Peeta notices my discomfort and takes my hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "They implanted receivers into my stub so my nervous system can communicate with the receivers in the fake leg. While I have complete control of the limb, it's numb to the heat and the cold, so the snow is no issue for me. But the stub becomes sore every now and then. On the plus side, it's also water proof, as proven during the Quarter Quell." I can't help but laugh. Greasy Sae shares my humor and we finish dinner in wonderful silence.

If my relationship with Peeta improved over the past few weeks, it blossoms over the next month. Every night, we kiss and embrace each other, growing ever more physical. Then it finally comes for us tonight. That hunger. That desire. I'm out of character by suggesting it and Peeta needs more convincing, but with enough kisses and assurances, he gives in to his own lust.

It does come with its fair share of challenges and complications. My pleasure and desires are enough to dilute the pain and discomfort, but it doesn't stop me from laughing. "What's wrong?" Peeta asks me. I can see the concern on his face due to the soft light from the candles.

"It's nothing," I breathe heavily. "It's just… I'm so happy and so many emotions are running through me. It's so strange, but exciting at the same time… It's okay, we can continue. Don't stop." Now he wears a confused expression. To encourage him, I lean up for another kiss. It doesn't last long before I start laughing again. Then the next time we stop, he's laughing or hyperventilating. The exchanges continue until we set a comfortable rhythm and harness our emotions and outbursts.

It doesn't take us very long to satisfy our desires and lust. The slow start and interruptions don't ruin the experience either, on the contrary, they make it that more memorable. We lay together quietly with our legs intertwined, his prosthetic leg is cool against my bare skin but I like it. My hands graze along the burn marks along his arm. They're completely healed and almost disappeared, but both of us still have our fair share of scars. His fingers fiddle with the pearl necklace; I haven't taken it off since that hunt a month ago.

Peeta inhales softly and asks me the question that I know that has been plaguing his mind. "You love me. Real or not real?" I can finally answer him.

"Real," I whisper back. The butterflies in my stomach dissipate and warmth spreads through my body and soul. I've finally admitted it to not only him, but to myself. I love Peeta.

"I love you too," Peeta replies. We share one more kiss before falling asleep.

There's a knock at the front door. I don't want to leave Peeta's arms, but I'm forced to. The banging at the door continues, luckily, Peeta is a heavy sleeper. I put on a thick, wool robe before going downstairs, but I make sure to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"I'm coming," I call out. I don't attempt to hide my annoyance and crankiness. Before opening the door, I check myself to make sure I'm presentable. And when I do, my visitor surprises me.

"Hello, Katniss," President Paylor greets me with an open hand. "It's good to see you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is now called Appalachia. I was in two Hunger Games. I survived. Panem has changed and continues to change. I am in love with Peeta, and we continue to grow ever closer. Now, I fear President Paylor brings bad news…_

President Paylor is tightly wrapped in layers of coats and scarves. If her face were covered, I wouldn't have recognized her. There is also a gold emblem of the Capitol's seal pinned to the lapel of her outer coat. It's probably a symbol of her place on the Council. I can barely remember the last time I saw her, it was the day I was pardoned after I assassinated Coin. No one told me but I'm positive she's one of the reasons why I left the Capitol with my life. I should thank her, except I'm at a loss of words, and despite my thoughts, nothing comes to mind.

I take a moment to examine her. When I first met Paylor, she seemed young to be the commander of the rebel forces at District 8. For such a young woman to be so strong and powerful, I admired her. Now, she still carries the same presence of authority, but she looks weak and haggard. Large circles have developed beneath her bloodshot eyes, probably the result of sleepless nights; and her cheeks are slightly sunk in. I'm not surprised. Ever since Panem became free of the Capitol's oppression, she's been working hard to establish a republic. Despite some setbacks, she's had a lot of success. However, at what cost? After looking at her, I'm not sure if I could do it. Then another thing comes to mind, _Why is she here?_

"Oh, will you shake her hand and let us in already?" a familiar, high-pitched voice calls out from behind Paylor's bodyguards. The two men stand like giants, they remind me of Thresh, but don winter body armor bearing the Capitol's emblem over their hearts. They also remind me of Peacekeepers, but the air about them is completely different. While they're intimidating, they make me feel oddly safe and secure. Effie forces herself between the two towers and sidesteps Paylor to greet me.

"Effie?" I say, stunned. If only I had a mirror so I could see the dumbfounded expression on my face. She's dressed like Paylor, wrapped in layers, but her face is covered in the same old Capitol makeup of white and pink. I can even see her baby blue hair scrunched beneath the beanie and hood that encompass her head.

"My dear, Katniss," she replies with real sincerity. "Well, are you going to shake her hand or what?" I shake my head to break my moment of disbelief and take Paylor's hand in mine. We exchange a strong shake before I take a step back to let my visitors in.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Effie as she gives me a strong but plushy hug due to her layers. It's certainly has been a while.

"The Council has chosen me to be the Capitol's ambassador to the people of Appalachia," she says as she smoothens out the cushion of my couch before taking a seat. "Isn't it wonderful?" I simply smile at her. I'm not sure how I feel about it. To be honest, I never liked Effie at first. She was the living embodiment of the Capitol's oppression and vanity. Every time I saw her, two children left with her to their doom, until the year Peeta was reaped and I volunteered. However, as I grew to know her, I came to realize she wasn't that bad. It was easy for her to annoy me and it was easy for me to annoy her, but there was a sense of mutual respect between us. Effie even has her moments, but I'm not sure if this is one of them.

Paylor doesn't share her enthusiasm, unfortunately. I can see the concern on her face, but she doesn't say anything to ruin Effie's mood. She takes a seat in the chair across from Effie and her bodyguards flank her, standing with their hands behind their backs at ease. Then I see the guns attached to the holsters at their wastes.

I look at Effie and remember my manners. "Would you like some tea?" I ask.

"That would be lovely, Katniss," Paylor replies as she pulls the gloves off her hands. The gloves are old leather, different from the rest of her attire, which looks fairly new and hardly worn. Her clothes say Capitol, but her gloves tell me something else. They're probably remnants of her old life in District 8, when she was their leader. But now, she's the leader of Panem. I'm sure she misses it. I would.

"So would I," Effie chimes in as I exit the living room for the kitchen, but I pause in the archway.

"Would your…" I try to think of how I should address Paylor's bodyguards. I share glances with them and receive my answer: no. As I start to boil the water on the stove, I can hear movement upstairs from my bedroom.

Peeta must have woken. The springs of the bed squeak. The covers and blankets are fixed. The wood panels creak with every step. The closet opens for retrieval of fresh clothes. I turn my head to look over my shoulder and see the others hear him as well. Paylor's men have their hands on their holsters but they keep their cool. "Don't worry about him."

"Him?" Effie catches on with a squeal. My face must be incredibly scarlet to cause the bodyguards to shift uncomfortably. At least they're no longer ready to draw their weapons.

"It's Peeta," I finally reply. Effie lets out a cry of joy and claps her hands together. Today, today I definitely hate her.

"Peeta Mellark?" Paylor wonders aloud. I nod. "Good, I was hoping to talk to him too."

"What is this about?" I ask. It doesn't take long for the water to boil and the kettle starts to whistle. The wailing covers the awkward silence developing between us.

"It's better if we wait for him," she answers. Now I'm concerned, but decide not to push the topic. Paylor will answer my questions when she's ready. To keep myself busy as we await Peeta's eventual arrival, I grab a bunch of cups and place them on a tray. I don't pay attention to the number of cups; I just make sure there's enough. The wonderful smell of the brew engulfs my nose as I mix the water with the tealeaves in the pot.

When I place the tray on the table in the middle of the living room, I hear Peeta descend the stairs. His feet are heavy; it's obvious he's trying to delay his inevitable entrance. I try not to laugh at the current predicament. I just made tea for the first time in ages. Paylor and her bodyguards are waiting quietly in my living room. Effie is a bouncing bundle of joy. And Peeta, well, he's trying to prolong it all from tumbling down.

"Peeta," I call to him, annoyed. "Will you just come down already?" There is a pause, followed by his usual pace. Peeta casually walks into the room, but he fails to cover his flustered face.

"H-hello," he stumbles with his words.

"Peeta," Effie doesn't try to hide her ecstasy. "I'm so happy for you two!" Now we're both bright red.

"It's nice to see you too, Effie," he mutters. When he realizes Paylor is also in the room, he immediately closes his legs, heels touching, and brings his arms to his sides, thumbs along the seams of his jeans. He's at attention, a side effect of his training from District 13. After he returned from the Capitol, the best way for him to cope with the flashbacks was to put everything into his training.

"At ease, Peeta," Paylor waves him off with a smile, probably her first real one of the day. "Actually, Peeta, can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he stutters.

"Can you get Haymitch?" she responds. "I think he should be present to hear what I have to say." Peeta nods and quickly runs out of the house. What do I do to pass the awful minutes? I pour tea for every cup on the tray, there's seven for the five of us. Paylor takes hers with two sugars and milk. Effie takes hers with lots of milk. I take mine with a sugar cube and touch of cinnamon. Haymitch takes his with a splash of white liquor. Peeta, he likes it the way it's brewed, but I'm positive he'll want something to go with my brew.

We sit in silence for about 10 minutes before Peeta arrives with Haymitch. By this time, their cups have cooled and the pot is nearly empty. I manage to get Paylor's men to drink their fair share as well, about a third of the pot.

When Haymitch enters the room, I can smell the alcohol on him. It's not dense like his house, but it's enough to wrinkle my nose. He takes a seat next to Effie; she scoots over to the edge of the couch and rests on the arm support.

Peeta stands behind me and places his hands against the back of the chair for support. I can feel his fingers playing with my hair and I try my hardest to not reciprocate his affection. Slowly, I lean my head back against his stomach to look up at him. He smiles and I smile back, then I turn my attention to Paylor.

"So, what's this all about," Haymitch grumbles as he adds a mysterious liquid, which I assume to be alcohol, from his flask to his tea.

"I shouldn't have to say this," Paylor begins, "but I'm going to say it anyways. Whatever is said in this room never leaves this room. Understood?" Our silence is her answer. "We might be in some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Peeta asks.

"Threat of insurgency; rumor of potential coup; dissent within the ranks of the military; whispers within my own Council plotting for my resignation, and possible assassination. The list goes on and it's not good." She says gravely and waits for us to absorb the information as she takes a sip of her tea.

"Oh dear," Effie mutters to herself. She's obviously been out of the loop like the rest of us. "Insurgents? Coup? What has this world come down to?"

"Why would someone want you to resign? Kill you?" I ask Paylor.

"For a myriad of reasons, Katniss," Paylor responds calmly with melancholy in her voice. "Many people believe I've been too soft. They wanted the rebel commander of District 8, not this fragile woman you see today. Many people wanted the Capitol to be razed to the ground, but I stopped it from happening." The thought of watching the Capitol burn scares me. If you had asked me before the Games, I might have supported it, but now, now I'm not so sure. There's been so much loss and I don't think we can afford any more of dead.

"You're not soft," I blurt out, trying to defend her from these false accusations. She simply replies with a soft smile.

"Everyone has an agenda, Katniss," Haymitch says, rubbing his brow with his free hand. "If they can't force her to resign, then they'll focus on building up an opposition to her when she runs for reelection. The fact is, not everyone agrees with Paylor's methods and would prefer to do things their way. It was dangerous to challenge Coin, but not Paylor, apparently. Some people can be quite prideful and quite stupid."

"I'm so sorry," I apologize for no reason. It doesn't make sense, at least not to me. Why do people hate Paylor? She was a commander during the rebellion. She oversaw the trials of the Capitol officials, including Snow's. She banned the Games from ever happening again. Peace and freedom is what she gave us. Peeta's hands lightly squeeze my shoulders, communicating his sympathies. It's good to know he has my back.

"It's okay, Katniss," Paylor assures me, I feel like a child when she addresses me. "Politics is a whole new kind of game. And not one I was prepared for, to be honest. I stay awake for hours trying to figure out what to do next. It's hard to get things that need to be done while trying to appease those with power." I understand her bloodshot eyes and the bags under them. "But it's not as bad as it sounds."

"So, what do you need from us?" Haymitch asks. It appears discretion has never been in his wheelhouse like mine. He's always been more crass and honest, a quality I actually like about him, sometimes.

"I need your help," Paylor tells us.

"How can we help?" says Peeta.

"I need you to return with me to the Capitol."

Her words still ring in my ears. The sun has already set, bringing another night of heavy snowfall. I'm ashamed to admit I zoned out for the rest of the conversation. Peeta was ready to ask the hard questions for me, such as why she needed our help. Paylor informed us that there are very few people she can really trust. Those people were members of her inner circle, the soldiers that were under her command in District 8, and us. And after everything that's happened, the list has become incredibly short.

Paylor told us we didn't have to give her an answer immediately, but she hoped for one by the week's end when she returned to the Capitol. That gave us roughly two days to decide. Haymitch wasn't pleased with the way things were unfolding but agreed to follow her back on the spot. So did Effie, even though she didn't know what she could do to actually help.

And Peeta? He didn't give her an answer, and not because he was being indecisive. No, he was waiting for me, but I hesitated. Whichever choice I made, he would follow, but I couldn't make it at the time. I don't know if I can handle returning to Capitol. The memories of the Games, the dead and lost, and the war still plague me. And then there was Prim, the best and the worst of it all. If Paylor had asked the old Katniss, she would have left in a heartbeat. And that's the problem, isn't it? She died a long time ago with her little sister.

If I did return to Capitol, what would it be like? Would they hate me? Love me? Try to have me executed on the spot? I left them in complete chaos and to pick up the pieces after killing Coin. It was the least I deserved for causing so much trouble. Even if everything was fine, I still might not be able to handle it and break under the pressure. It seems I'm back at square one, but something's different this time around, I now have a certain someone in my life.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers to me as he places a cup of freshly made hot chocolate on the table. I look down at the brown, creamy liquid; it swirls in soft circles. It's almost mesmerizing and the smell of the sweet chocolate is intoxicating. "Are you with me?"

"Yes," I reply as my hands wrap around the cup. The heat that radiates from the thin porcelain slowly brings life back to my fingers, then my hands, and then my arms. Carefully, so I don't spill a single drop, I bring it to my lips and take a sip. It tastes even sweeter than it smells, revitalizing me completely and dissipating the haze I was under. It's just as good as it was on the train to the Capitol. I tilt my head back and finish it in a single chug, slightly burning my tongue and giving Peeta a laugh. "I'm sorry." I wipe the corners of my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater

"Don't be," Peeta sets a chair beside me and takes a seat, wrapping his arm around me. "I'm happy you like it. Effie left me a box of the stuff."

"A box?" I wonder and turn my head towards the counter top. There is a small, opened box, filled with two rows of packets. It reminds me of those teabags used in the Capitol. Instead of simply placing the leaves into the water to make their tea, they would submerge the bag into the pot. Besides the box is the packet used for my chocolate, it's ripped open and brown powder litters the surface of the white counter. "You mix it?"

"Apparently," he replies. "It's highly concentrated, so all you have to do is add warm water, just like brewing tea. After pouring it in, you stir it. And there you have it, hot chocolate. It's even sweeter when not mixed." I give him a look. "What? I was curious. I might even use it for baking and Effie told me it also goes well with cold milk."

"Milk?" I lick the rim of the cup. The last of the sweet, chocolate nectar is gone. I turn my head and give Peeta a soft kiss to give my thanks.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peeta finally addresses the question that has been preying on me since Paylor left. I'm thankful he didn't push me to give her an answer earlier. Like me, I know he's still haunted by what happened in the Capitol.

"What do you think?" I ask him, but I already know the answer to my question.

"I think," he clears his throat. "I think we should do it." Of course he would want to help her. That was Peeta. Despite his ghosts, he still wants to help, he always wants to help; I on the other hand, don't share that quality. I was always more of a survivalist and loner, but I'm not even that anymore. Peeta wouldn't leave without me, but I'm positive he's going to try his hardest to convince me. He's not very hard to predict.

"You must be tired of hearing me say the same thing," I mutter, breaking eye contact with him.

"I know you're afraid," Peeta confirms. "And so am I, but as long as I'm with you… The thought of returning to the Capitol terrifies me. However, Paylor, Panem, they all need us." He isn't exactly poetic this time, but his sincerity is almost enough to persuade me. "I'm not going to lie, Katniss, it's going to be hard. I know you haven't completely recovered from Prim's death." His words run through me like icy daggers.

"Prim…" I say softly. The thought of her is enough to break me, so I change the subject back to Paylor to keep my sanity. And I thought I had managed to move on. "Do you think we can do it? Help Paylor?"

"I think we can. We should at least try," Peeta assures me. "This past year, I've never been happier, but to be honest, I'm tired of living one day at a time. And I know you are too. Maybe, this is our chance. We won't be starting over, instead, we'll be moving forward." I stand up, breaking his embrace and take the cup with me to the sink to wash.

"Moving forward, huh…" I put it under the faucet and run the water.

"We might as well try," Peeta says again.

I can't sleep, but it's not because of nightmares. Peeta's words continue to replay in my mind. And the blizzard outside doesn't help, chunks of ice pound into the windows and walls. We have been living each day at a time. I can't deny that. Maybe it was time to break routine and make a real change in my life. I think about Prim, she would want me to help, and that's enough to affirm my decision. It's time to move forward.

Peeta isn't asleep when I tap his shoulder. He listens in complete silence as I give him my answer. I accept Paylor's request to return with her, but acknowledge my reservations on the matter. The best thing for us to do is go with her to the Capitol, to face our demons and help Panem. However, I don't want to go in blind. We need to talk with Haymitch.

He agrees. Then he takes my hands into his and gingerly presses his lips against them. A sigh of enjoyment escapes me, and I turn around, pulling his arms around me. I'm not sure what the future holds for the girl on fire and the boy with the bread. But one thing is certain, with him by my side, I can move forward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is Appalachia. I was in two Hunger Games. I survived. Panem has changed and continues to change. I am in love with Peeta. President Paylor has asked for our help. And I've decided to help her…_

Haymitch carefully pours a freshly brewed pot of coffee into three large cups. After filling them, he offers Peeta and myself each a cup with a simple gesture, but we decline with a shake of our heads. He shrugs and takes a seat at his kitchen table with a cup in hand. It was strange seeing him up this early in the morning. Then again, I've never been around Haymitch so early in the day. The sun was barely rising in the distance. At least he was presentable and not in a drunken stupor.

Peeta and I take seats across from him, waiting for him to respond, to say something. I had just informed him that we've decided to help Paylor and to join him in the Capitol. Haymitch didn't say a word after listening to everything I had to say. Instead, he motioned us to follow him into the kitchen. That's when he spent the next ten minutes making the coffee, and we waited in utter silence.

"Are you sure about this?" Haymitch takes a sip of his coffee and cringes from the bitter taste. Even though he isn't drunk, it's obvious he had a heavy night of drinking. I remember the last time I had alcohol; the following morning was the worst of the experience. A bad headache kept the room spinning. If I managed to stand up, the next thing I wanted to do was find the nearest toilet to vomit. Then there was the sensitivity to light and sound. It was absolutely dreadful. I assume he's using the coffee to fight off the effects of the alcohol.

"Yes," I say confidently.

"And you?" he nods at Peeta. "Not allowing her to influence you with her… _feminine wiles_, are you?" He tries to joke and jest, but by the expression on my face, he knows I'm not in the mood.

"No, Haymitch," Peeta replies. "I was the one who had to convince her."

"Of course." Haymitch takes another painful swig of his coffee. "Good, then." He forces himself to finish the coffee. Each gulp is harder than the last. "You know, you could have told this to me over the phone."

"There's something else," I tell him. "It's something that couldn't be said over the phone."

"There's always _something_ _else_, Katniss." He stands up and gets a second cup of coffee.

"Can we trust her?" I ask. The butterflies multiply, causing the discomfort in the pit of my stomach to expand. My chest also tightens in anticipation.

Haymitch sits back down in his chair, eyeing me carefully. He's trying to read me. I can see the gears turning in his mind, and he can see the same in mine. "Trust who?"

"Paylor," I reply ruefully. I don't want to appear distrustful, nor do I want to anger him. "Can we trust Paylor?"

"Good," Haymitch says with a solemn grin on his face. Is he avoiding the question?

"What?" Peeta asks. We're both stunned by his apparent approval.

"In the Capitol, paranoia is your greatest weapon," Haymitch explains. "Information is power. Favors and secrets are the currency. And politics is the game." He takes another slow slurp from his coffee. "Now, can you trust Paylor? Yes, but be cautious. Remember, as I said yesterday, everyone has an agenda. Someone who is your ally today can be your enemy tomorrow."

We sit in silence, letting what he says sink in. It reminds me of my time in the Quarter Quell. When I first met Finnick, I was skeptical of his motives and mistrusted him from the start. Even if he was my ally, I was always prepared to kill him if he betrayed us. It was the same thing with Johanna Mason. But in the end, they both saved my life—in more ways than one. Will it be like this in the Capitol? My stomach becomes agitated as I process his words and contemplate the future, "_Someone who is your ally today can be your enemy tomorrow_."

"Okay." Haymitch finishes his second cup. "Get out of here. Have some fun or whatever. We're leaving tomorrow morning." As he leaves the kitchen, he grabs the last cup of coffee from the counter.

"So, what do you want to do for our last day?" Peeta asks as he takes my hand.

"I don't know," I reply. What shall we do? I want to go hunting one last time, but last night's blizzard makes that impossible. Tracking the scarce game in the freezing cold isn't very appealing. And I'm certain Peeta wouldn't want to either, even under better conditions. He can bake and cook, but not hunt. Maybe visit the Hob, just one last time. I'm not sure when we'll be back and I'd like to give my thanks to Greasy Sae.

"We should say goodbye to Greasy Sae," he says as if he's reading my mind. "We owe her that much."

"You want to go to the Hob?" I ask playfully. "The son of a baker? Oh, what will they say?"

"Hey," he says, pretending to be offended. "I've been to the Hob before. I know my way around. Besides, I have you to look after me."

I kiss him on the cheek. "True, but I'm not so sure. Besides, I could earn a week's worth of food by putting a strong lad like you to work."

Before Peeta can reply, Haymitch shouts from his living room. "Will you two just stop with the banter and get out of my house already? You're giving me a migraine! At first neither of you wanted to visit, now I can't get you to leave." Peeta and I fail to stifle our laughter.

We spend the next few hours packing before heading out to visit Greasy Sae.

Last night's snowfall hasn't deterred people from going to the Hob. Most of the snow has been plowed to the edges of the plaza to form tall snow banks. While most of the people are dressed warmly, their layers aren't heavy like Effie's were. It's obvious they've grown accustomed to this kind of weather. I'm not sure why—maybe because I'm with Peeta or because I'll be leaving tomorrow—but the Hob looks incredibly beautiful today.

Last time, I had attempted to avoid as many eyes and people as possible as I made way through the market. Now I want to make time to visit as many stalls as possible before stopping at Greasy Sae's shop. There are five rows total in the Hob, each one dedicated to a certain good. The first row focuses on meats, fruits, and vegetables. Before the rebellion there wasn't much variety, but now, almost every District is represented. The stall that grabs our interest is the one from Oceana.

"Would you like to try some fish, my friends?" the trader asks with great enthusiasm. His thick coats, tan skin, blue eyes, salty odor, and distinct accent scream Finnician. "Get it while it's fresh. It'll probably be gone by the late afternoon.

"Really?" Peeta asks in disbelief.

"Peeta," I whisper as I softly press my chin into his shoulder.

"What, Katniss?" He turns his attention to me for a moment.

"He has to sell it by then or the smell will get worse, and then no one will buy it." I wait a few seconds for him to make the connections. I've rarely eaten seafood, but like other meats, it doesn't store well, at least not here. Not many people own refrigerators. If wild rabbit can rot after a day or two, I can only imagine fish. However, the winter cold may help with the smell and decay.

"Well, I think we should try something." Peeta doesn't ask me for my opinion on the matter. He gives the trader some money and hands me a small paper plate with a piece of fish on a sliced biscuit. "It's called tuna."

"I don't know," I take a whiff. The Capitol fish was slimy. While I had enjoyed the fish from the Quarter Quell, it had sauce to help mask the smell and taste. There's nothing to go with the fish but the biscuit this time around. Now, I'm not so sure anymore.

"Try it," Peeta encourages me. "If you don't like it, oh well. It's a new experience."

"New experience, huh? Fine," I say to him. "Just this once." The tuna tastes foreign to me. The saltiness and the texture are strange, but the hint of lemon juice improves it greatly. I like it. The biscuit isn't bad either, but not nearly as good as Peeta's. However, I'm not entirely sure I could base my diet solely on fish, but I finally understand the appeal. I look over at Peeta and crack up at his expression.

"I don't like it." His face is covered in disgust, and a little regret. "I guess I was really hungry at the Quarter Quell." The trader gives him a disparaging look and returns to checking his inventory. He mutters something, but I don't catch it.

"It's okay, I liked it," I assure him. "Let's go." With my arm wrapped around his, I lead him to the next row. The second row is all about the clothes and garments, but the tables have a limited variety of coats and jackets displayed. Usually the styles and colors are endless, but the winter season has reduced the options drastically. The majority of clothes are made of wool, cotton, and a fabric unique to the Capitol called polyester. We make a stop at the last stall.

"Interested in anything particular?" Peeta whispers into my ear.

"Just browsing," I reply with a smile and look up at him. "Before everything, I never dreamed of looking at clothes like these, because we couldn't afford it. It wasn't really an option for us… What?"

"I'm just glad to see you happy," he says and I respond with a soft peck on his cheek. After searching for a few minutes, Peeta leans forward and pulls out a red, wool coat from the pile. He lets it unravel and holds it up against me to check if it would fit.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"I think it would look beautiful on you," he replies.

"Stop it," I jest and push him back lightly. Clothes never interested me when I was growing up. Then again, like I told Peeta, it was probably because we couldn't afford it. I didn't grow up as a girly girl like the others at my school, and I don't plan to change. However, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate Peeta's gesture. I'll never take him for granted again.

We continue to the next row, which deals with household products. Most of the craftsmen try to sell us furniture, particularly chairs and tables. Peeta shows great interest in an old-style rocking chair for my living room. The chair would be big enough for both of us to share and strong enough to carry our weight. Unfortunately, he's discouraged to purchase it when I remind him we're leaving tomorrow morning. It would have been a great addition.

The fourth row consists of jewelry from all around Panem. Most of it reminds me of those worn by the people of the Capitol. Most of the necklaces are incredibly extravagant and complex, while the rare ones are simple and plain. I like the latter, but that's just me; I'm sure there's someone out there who would prefer the former. Before leaving to check out the last row, I catch Peeta perusing a glass box. I can barely catch a look of its contents, but I know they're rings. I'm not sure what he's doing, at least that's what I tell myself, but my blushing cheeks say otherwise. So that he won't see me, and to give him some space, I travel to the last set of tables without him.

The last row centers on miscellaneous objects and trinkets. Something from District 7 catches my eye. Displayed on a table is a chess set made of various woods. The merchant tells me the board is composed primarily of mahogany; the light set is red wood while the dark set is ebony. It reminds me of the set that Peeta and Haymitch enjoy playing at home. I could never get into chess. Haymitch teases it's because I lack any tact and strategy. He's not completely wrong, but there's more to it. It reminds me too much of the real Games. In both, everyone's really just a pawn, regardless of skill and status.

"What are you looking at?" Peeta comes up behind me to see what I'm checking out. "Oh, wow." Without having to ask him the question, I know the answer.

"I'll buy it," I tell the merchant. This time it's my chance to get him something without his input, but I'm sure he'll like it more than the fish.

"You didn't have to buy it for me," Peeta says and opens the door to Greasy Sae's shop. It's not as busy compared to the last time I stopped by a month ago. Peeta follows in after me and we take a seat at the table closest to the counter.

"Hello," Greasy Sae greets us from the other side of the counter. Without giving her an order, she walks over to us to deliver lamb stew—her only batch. "So, what are you two doing here?" She fills both of our bowls with the warm broth and gives us a small plate of bread rolls.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Peeta tells her.

"What? Why?" She swings the pot back to the counter and joins us at the table. We proceed to tell her that tomorrow morning, we'll be leaving with Haymitch to the Capitol. Due to the obvious reasons, we omit the majority of details, particularly Paylor's paranoia, but we give her enough information. She hangs on every word. After we finish, Greasy Sae wishes us the best of luck, and gives us each a tight hug when we leave her shop.

"Hey, we have time for one more stop," Peeta says as we exit through the door. I assume he mean's Prim's grave, and I try to fight off the knot developing in my gut. It's something I've been avoiding since my return, and I want to keep it that way.

"Where?" I ask him, trying to hide the discomfort in my voice.

"The construction site," he replies. The knot unravels and I am relieved.

"You really want to stop by the construction site?" I ask him as we make our way through the Hob one last time.

"Yeah," he replies. "Just like us, this place is taking a step forward. It starts with the construction of the new facilities. They'll be making medicine and that'll bring in much needed money into the district." Then he stops.

I take several steps before realizing. "What is it?"

Peeta gives me a very serious look before he asks, "Do you want to visit Prim's grave?"

I don't burst out in tears like Peeta expects me since I was expecting it. Instead, I bury it deep inside; she wouldn't want to me cry anyway. "She's not even there, Peeta. Why would it matter?" I tell him the truth. I don't like discussing Prim, not even with Peeta. They were never able to recover Prim's body after the bombing. Most of the bodies were either obliterated or burned beyond recognition. The remains were cremated and their ashes are now part of a monument in the Capitol. At first, I was against the idea of burying an empty coffin. However, the more I think about it, the more I believe it was for the best. I'll never get closure, but it was the next best thing, I guess.

"I know," he says. "But I still think you should say a few words, or something."

I think long and hard before replying. "I'll think about it."

The new factories are being built along the border of Appalachia near the train station. There are three new building in total. Two of them are expected to start operating by the end of the month; followed by the first batch of medicine. The buildings stand tall and remind me of the Capitol, but they carry the characteristics of Appalachia. And the third building resembles a gutted corpse. It's only a steel frame with planks of wood scattered around. However, construction has been put on hold for the week due to the frequent snowstorms. Thus there are not many people walking around the area.

After getting a full view of the unfinished building, the bomb goes off. It was hidden somewhere inside it, probably buried beneath its foundation. There is little fire, but the explosive force is enough to knock us both off our feet. Oxygen expels from my lunges when my back hits the ground. I'm instantly winded, but, luckily, it's not as painful as the explosion in the Games.

I try to look over at the explosion and something incredible happens. From the epicenter of the detonation, a vacuum forms, sucking everything back in. I've never seen anything like it before. A sphere of light and energy begins to develop. Then Peeta rolls over me, trying to keep me safe from the blast. His arms immediately move up and cover my head, and I respond by wrapping my arms around his head and neck to protect him.

The sphere detonates, creating a bigger explosion. It's almost powerful enough to blow Peeta and me away, but we managed to keep our ground. There's no fire like before, but I can feel the heat and force generated from the sphere. It was even more horrifying, but then it stops just as quickly. There is an eerie silence as it subsides.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks. He raises himself carefully to get a look at my face.

I nod slowly. "Yes, and you?"

"I'll survive," he responds and sits up, giving me space to move. Fragments of steel, concrete, and wood surround us, but none big enough to cause us any real harm. We're covered in scratches and bruises, but nothing serious or life threatening. I scan the area, taking in the damage caused by the explosion as Peeta tries to help a couple beside us. I'm still in shock. The few people that were around are either on their backs or hiding behind something. Fortunately, none of them appear to be terribly injured or dead.

I stand up slowly, allowing my legs to adjust to the soreness. The world around me swirls, but it's nothing drastic. There is a light ringing in my ears, but I can still hear what's going on around me. However, it does feel like someone is covering them. After getting my bearings, I help Peeta bandage a poor woman's bleeding arm.

The incomplete building has been completely leveled since it was the heart of the explosion. It's as if it was never there to begin with. The two buildings that flank it remain standing, but they have suffered severe damage. The wall on one of them has collapsed and the factory itself is probably beyond repair. They'll have to tear the entire building down and start over. It'll take a couple of weeks for them to clear the site. Looks like another step backwards for our little district.

"How are you, Katniss?" Haymitch takes a seat next to me on the makeshift bench. There's real concern in his voice. As much as I'm happy to see Haymitch care about me, it makes me feel babied. It's like I can't carry my own weight without him. Sometimes, he's right.

"I'm fine, Haymitch," I say honestly. Well, part of it's true anyways. I'm still shaken, but I don't want to give him any second thoughts about me joining him at the Capitol. I can't show any weakness, so I change the subject. "Where's Peeta? How's he doing?"

"He'll be alright," he assures me. I know he's already figured me out, but he's playing along. He always does, and I'm thankful, I guess. "The healer just said a few scrapes and cuts. He'll need a few stitches and bandages, but that's the worst of it."

"Do you know what happened?" I ask and look over at the blast site. My eyesight is still a little dodgy, but it's nothing serious. However, if I move my head too fast, I'll become nauseous. There are dozens of security officers and investigators combing through the site, looking for clues and evidence. They're already calling it "ground zero."

"No," Haymitch replies. "And it doesn't seem to be your typical bomb. Quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" I emphasize, a hint of anger rising in my voice.

"Sorry, poor choice of words," he mutters.

Before I can say anything else, Peeta walks over to us. His coat is severely torn, shredded near the cuffs. Beneath the fabric, I can see the bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen. "It'll heal," he says as he joins us on the bench.

"Good," I reply and examine the bandages myself. Even though my mother and Prim were the healers in the family, I've grown quite familiar with them. "They did a wonderful job on the bindings."

"Just have to make sure I apply a new dressing daily." He then takes my hands and presses his lips against them. I think this is my favorite form of affection Peeta expresses. I turn my head and see Paylor approaching us, her entourage of bodyguards and Effie in tow. The smeared mascara around Effie's eyes and cheeks makes it obvious she's been crying, but I don't know why.

Paylor greets us with a nod and crosses her arms to help insulate her body. "Are you two okay?" Paylor questions Peeta and me. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Yes," Peeta answers. "We'll be alright."

"That's good to hear," she says sternly. It's obvious she has other things on her mind—such as the reasons for the attack and the perpetrators behind it. "Also, Haymitch informed me you two will be joining us in the Capitol?" I look over at him and he nods. "I was happy to hear that, but after today, are you two sure? I completely understand if…"

"You two shouldn't push yourselves so hard," Effie chimes in, forgetting her manners, but Paylor isn't fazed by it. On the contrary, she seems relieved that Effie asked the question for her and waits for an answer. While I don't need the pampering, Effie's concern is comforting.

"We'll be going to the Capitol with you," I take Peeta's hand in mine and squeeze it, assuring myself. _I have made the right decision, haven't I?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is Appalachia. I was in two Hunger Games. I survived. Panem has changed and continues to change. I am in love with Peeta. President Paylor has asked for our help. Now, we're on our way to the Capitol…_

The blizzard grows heavier and more violent; shards of ice shatter against the thick windows of our train cabin. This is the third stop the train has been forced to make, and we probably won't be moving until tomorrow morning. Based on what I've overheard the engineers and the conductor tell Paylor, we probably won't make it to the Capitol until tomorrow evening. Before I could get any more details, we were _kindly_ asked to leave the cabin to give her privacy to make a phone call. That was three hours ago, and I don't expect to see Paylor until tomorrow.

I turn my attention to Peeta and Haymitch. They're playing their fourth game of chess with the set I purchased yesterday from the Hob. This time Peeta has taken charge and gone on the offensive in an attempt to put Haymitch on edge. However, just like the previous game, Haymitch traps Peeta by sacrificing his own queen. It is a common tactic that he likes to use against Peeta, and he always falls for it. I've asked Peeta about it countless times. His answer? "I just can't resist… like I can't resist you." My response? I blush.

"When will you learn, Peeta?" Haymitch chuckles as he pours a splash of wine into his glass.

Peeta winks at me. "I have, Haymitch." He moves his bishop across the board, checkmating Haymitch. Our mentor leans forward, studying the set up carefully. Always calculating. It turns out Peeta made his own snare. "And checkmate by the way." Haymitch looks up at him for a second, and then they both bust up laughing, bringing me to smile. I let the moment pass and look back out the window, thinking about this past morning.

* * *

><p>The sun was barely rising over the hills when Peeta and I left my house. After much convincing on Peeta's part, I agreed to visit Prim's tombstone before we left for the Capitol. Like he told me, I'm not sure when we'll be back, so I might as well visit <em>her<em> before it's too late. I plan to return, but I don't know when that'll be. It just so happens, I'm not very good at following through with my plans.

The afterlife is something I rarely thought about, and I'm not even sure I believe in it. I didn't really have time to think about it when I was growing up. All that mattered was keeping Prim and my mother alive, nothing else. Now that I have had time to contemplate the world and the beyond, I'm still not sure.

Her tombstone is composed of a hard carbon imported from District 2. "Primrose Everdeen" has been engraved in large letters across the top of her tablet, along with other relevant information. The stone isn't plain by any means. Floral designs have been chiseled along the edges and stained a dark green, forming a beautiful border of vines. Various colorful rocks are embedded into the carbon to create flowers. When I saw the sunlight reflecting off the rocks, I was reminded of the dress that Cinna had created for my first interview.

"It was the least we could do." That's what Haymitch told me. I couldn't bring myself to help them construct it, because I was still recovering at the time. I am grateful that Haymitch was there to guide the building team. He was always looking after me, even when I didn't want him to.

I brushed the snow away and knelt down on the cold earth. There were a couple of small primrose bushes growing on each side. The bush had been trimmed recently, but no flower had bloomed. According to Haymitch, the petals are supposed to be a pale yellow, Prim's favorite. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to imagine how beautiful the site would be if it were spring. How I wished I had more time. I turned my head slowly and noticed Peeta standing a couple of feet behind me. He was a few feet behind me.

"You can join me," I told him as I turned back to my sister's tombstone.

"I wanted to give you some space," he said.

"I don't need it," I replied. Peeta walked towards me and slowly squatted, placing his hands on my shoulders. I took his hands in mine and brought them forward, allowing his arms to wrap around me. "I miss her, Peeta."

"I know," he said softly as he tightened his hug.

I stopped the tears from flowing, and I understood why he wanted me to come. I had never completely moved on after her death. Visiting her tombstone was meant to help bring me a sense of closure. The hole that has been left in me will never heal completely, but every day it becomes a little easier to live with. And hopefully, some day, the guilt will disappear. "Thank you," I whispered to him.

"You're welcome," he replied and kissed my cheek softly.

* * *

><p>The bell of the food cart rings, bringing me back to the present. The front door to the cabin opens up and Paul, a small but plump man with an inglorious mustache, walks in with a cart filled with various pastries and desserts. "Time for a late evening snack," he smiles. <em>A snack?<em> There's enough food to feed a family of eight for a week. It doesn't surprise me. The people of the Capitol have a different idea of what a serving is and have always indulged themselves in gluttony.

"Good," Haymitch says as he finishes his glass of wine. "I'm starving. Didn't have much for dinner." He leans from his chair and grabs a bottle of liquor, but he also takes a plate of pastries and a glass of milk. However, he doesn't take the sweets for himself, but he gives the plate to Peeta. I make my way to the cart and allow the various scents to drive me crazy.

"What would you like, Miss Everdeen?" Paul asks me cheerfully. He always has a smile on his face.

"I don't know." I exercise as much self-control as I possess, which isn't much. "Wait, what is that?" I point at the plate near the bottom of the cart.

"Oh, I know you'll love this." He picks it up and hands it to me. "It's bacon hardened into dark chocolate. Salty yet sweet and rich." I lift the plate to my nose and inhale deeply; it smells wonderful. Before joining Peeta and Haymitch, I also grab a large glass of milk for myself.

"This is amazing," Peeta mutters after taking a giant bite of a bar-shaped donut covered with maple glaze. "Try it." I lean over and take a bite as I sit down beside him. I can't lie; one thing I've missed from the Capitol is the food. I second-guess my choice of the chocolate bacon as I swallow the donut.

"Do you have any idea what we'll be doing in the Capitol?" I ask Haymitch as I bite off the corner of the chocolate bar. It's amazing, but I can't even describe the taste. It's just so strange.

"Not sure," Haymitch replies, taking a donut from Peeta's plate. "I wouldn't be surprised if you two are used as poster children for her administration."

"Children, huh?" I scowl.

"What do you mean, Haymitch?" Peeta asks, devouring his second donut.

"Kind of like how Katniss filmed Plutach's propaganda, but I doubt you'll be put in any serious danger this time around." He grins sheepishly. "Probably a bunch of interviews and speeches. Boring stuff for sure."

"Do you remember those videos?" I carefully ask Peeta.

He shakes his head solemnly. "Not really. To be honest, I don't remember much. The jacking… The therapy… It's all a blur, and I'm kind of grateful." I place my free hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze—acknowledging that I'm there for him—and he places his hand on mine.

"I don't think anyone wants to remember," Haymitch finishes his donut and takes a swig of his choice of poison.

"What will you do?" I wonder aloud as I finish the last of the chocolate bacon. Absolutely delicious, but I'm a little disheartened when I realize there's none left.

"Me?" he grunts. "Who knows? It'll probably be advisory work, mostly. Doubt they'll put me in front of the cameras like—"

Before he can finish, Effie walks into the cabin with a disgruntled look on her face. Without saying a word, she grabs the bottle from Haymitch's hand and takes a giant swig. She doesn't wince or cough; it goes down smoothly. We're all awestruck and dumbfounded by her behavior, especially Haymitch—so much for manners. Effie takes another drink before shoving the bottle back into Haymitch's hand. Then she takes a seat at the edge of the small table.

"What happened?" Peeta is the first to ask.

"The world is ending," Haymitch jokes, examining the lowered liquor level through the brown-tinted glass of his bottle. He looks at her and realizes she's in no mood for his jokes.

"They learned who the bomber was," she answers Peeta. We all freeze in our chairs, hanging on every word as if it were the last. "It was Greg Foster." I run the name through my head. I try to place a face to the name, but I come up short. However, it does sound oddly familiar.

"Wait," Peeta says. "Greg Foster? The miner?" Then it hits me why I recognize the name. It's not Greg, but the surname Foster. He must be Thom's younger brother. Thom used to work with Gale in the mines before the rebellion. Last I heard he was involved in the construction of the factories. _What would drive his brother to blow up the site then?_ I try my hardest to hide my realization, but Haymitch picks up on it. Like usual, he doesn't say anything.

"Was anyone else involved?" I ask Effie, hoping not to reveal my true intentions. What I really wanted to ask is, "_Was Thom in on it too? Is he safe? What will happen to his family?_"

"As of right now, they believe he was working alone," Effie ties to explain, but she appears to be breaking under the pressure. "I don't know, Katniss. This is all too crazy and sudden. I thought all of the killing was over, yet here we are." I hold my tongue; it's kind of ironic to hear her say that. Only a few years ago, she was the one that pulled out my sister's name during the reaping. Like everyone else, she was a cog in the Capitol's Games.

"Wow," Peeta mutters.

"That's all Paylor has told me," she admits. "I was told to inform you three about the situation." It appears she's thrown all form of manners and decorum out the window. Effie leans over the table and grabs the last donut from Peeta's plate, but he doesn't object. Hungrily, she tries to stuff the entire pastry into her mouth with surprising success.

"Are you, okay?" I inquire.

"No, Katniss," she hisses, but she's barely audible due to the donut. Chunks of it spout out from her mouth. "I didn't sign up for this." Then Effie stops and surveys the mess she's made. Peeta and I have taken cover behind our hands, keeping our respective faces clear of projectiles. A blob of sprinkles has attached themselves to Haymitch's forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's been a really long day."

"Here," Haymitch grumbles and hands her the bottle. "Finish it and get some sleep." Effie doesn't hesitate and takes it from him. Satisfied with the buzz she's developed, she finishes it in a single down. The image, the visage she once held has completely vanished. All that's left is an exhausted woman who appears to have lost everything, despite the fact she still has everything. I'm not angry with her, nor do I hate her. I simply feel sorry for her, and she kind of reminds me of my mother after my father was killed in the mines. "Thank you, Haymitch. I'll be going to sleep now." Haymitch is almost caught off guard by her newfound kindness. Tipsy, she leaves the cabin for one of the private rooms to sleep.

"I think we should go too," Peeta whispers to me and kisses me on the cheek. I nod, but before I can join him, Haymitch stops me.

"Wait, Katniss," he says. "You can go, Peeta. She'll join you in a second." Peeta gives us an uncomfortable nod and leaves behind Effie. Haymitch looks at me sternly. "Sit. Now." I quickly sit back down, taking Peeta's chair to increase the distance between us. My skin begins to crawl and sweat as I anticipate the coming lecture. I just knew he wasn't going to let me off so easily after catching my reaction to Effie's news.

"Haymitch, before you say any—" I begin.

"You're playing a dangerous game, girl," he interrupts me, but he's not exactly menacing or angry. There's actually real concern in his voice and my hearts sinks into my stomach despite it being full of bacon and chocolate. I develop the urge to vomit, but I manage to hold it back. "What you know, or what you might know, you better be careful."

"I don't know anything," I say before he can accuse me of anything. "I swear."

"Then what was that face you made, Katniss?" he asks me. "I know you're holding something back. What is it?"

I take a moment to think before I speak my mind. Honesty is the best choice right now, but I have to watch my words. "I don't know Greg, but I knew his older brother, Thom. He worked in the mines with Gale before the rebellion."

"Is that it?" His eyes grow with intensity.

"Yes," I gasp, trying to catch my breath as if I'd lost it. "I promise, Haymitch. If I knew anything, I would have said something. I just—I just couldn't image Thom being involved…"

"I'm aware of who he is, Katniss." His demeanor softens.

"What are we doing, Haymitch?" I plead to him. My mask of strength and confidence has been torn away like Effie's.

"I wish I could tell you," he admits as he takes my hand. "Look, I'm sorry I scared you. I just needed to be sure you weren't keeping anything dangerous to yourself."

"I promise you," I say to him. "If I do know anything important, you'll be the first to know."

"No." He shakes his head. "Don't be so quick to tell me things."

"What? Why? I can't _trust_ you either?" I reply in complete disbelief.

"It's not that," he assures me. Then he becomes serious. "When we're in the Capitol, there will always be eyes and ears on us at all times. Do you know what that means?"

"You mean like the Games?" I answer. Will the Capitol be spying on us? Why would Paylor do that? I thought we would be safe, but now it seems we really can't trust anyone.

"Kind of. We'll be safe, but we have to watch what we say. We'll never know if we're completely alone." He then pauses. "We'll have to create a way to communicate with each other when it comes to more delicate topics."

"Like what? Like a code?" I ask.

"I'm not sure, but we'll think of something. That's it for now; you go get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow." He waves me off as he takes out a flask from the inside pocket of his vest. "Katniss, I can't promise there won't be secrets between us. It'll happen. Just tell me what you can, and I'll do the same. And remember, I'll always be looking out for you and Peeta. Even if the Games are over, I'm still your mentor."

I give him a soft nod and head for the door. "Haymitch… thank you." I'm forced to use my hands to guide me, because the hallway is poorly lit. However, I notice the light leaking from the bottom of one of the doors. "Peeta?" I cautiously knock on the door.

"Coming," I can hear Peeta shuffling inside. The lock pulls back and Peeta slides the door open. "What did you and Haymitch talk about?"

"I'll tell you when I'm inside and wrapped in a warm blanket," I reply. After we get situated under the covers in the surprisingly large bed, I tell him everything—from Thom Foster to Haymitch's warning.

"Now I'm starting to have second thoughts," Peeta sighs as he tightens his hug around me. "Well, not really. But you know what I mean. I think we just might be a little in over our heads, and we've survived two Games and a rebellion." I completely understand. Even though the Games were under the control of the Gamemakers and out of our hands, we knew the rules because there was only one: survive. But now, we don't even know who's pulling the strings nor do we know all the rules. Somehow, we're even more vulnerable.

"So much for moving forward, huh?" I joke.

"Very funny, Katniss." He kisses the back of my head. We both fall into a deep sleep an hour later.

The following morning, we decide to remain in our private room instead of joining a hungover Haymitch and a distressed Effie in the next cabin. Paul stops by every now and then with foods and beverages to quench our appetites. It's not until we're two hours outside of the Capitol that someone comes to get us.

"We're almost there," Haymitch calls out as he pounds on the door. "Your stylists have arrived. Their aircraft touched down on the train a few minutes ago."

"Stylists?" I ask Peeta; he simply shrugs. "You're a lot of help," I tell him and grab my robe. "Who're our stylists?" I address Haymitch.

"Come out here and see for yourself," Haymitch says and walks away. After getting dressed, Peeta and I finally leave our room and join the others. In the adjoining cabin, three familiar people—who I never thought I'd see again—are eating breakfast with Effie. She also looks more presentable.

Venia has maintained her thin physique, but her hairstyle has evolved into a dark blue mohawk. However, her attire is definitely more conservative; it's a black and gray suit that of reminds me of Cinna. There is a small, intricate design sewn into the jacket, but from far away, it looks plain and simple. Flavius, on the other hand, easily makes up for her with his extravagant coat covered in gems and pants stitched with satin strips. However, I could see he still suffered from tremors by the slight shaking of teacup in his hands. Then there is Octavia. She has kept her curvy figure, but lost the unnatural skin tone and wears her hair in complex braids. Despite her crazy getup, she looks quite pretty for appearing so normal.

"Katniss," Octavia shrieks and runs up to me, giving me a big hug.

"Hey," I respond, not knowing how to address her. It has been over a year.

"Enough, Octavia," Venia sips her tea. "If you haven't figured it out already, we've been brought in to you make you three look presentable."

"Three?" Haymitch snorts.

"Yes," Venia replies. "Paylor instructed us to dress all three of you. You must look your best for the Capitol."

"Fantastic," he mutters.

"Good," she says. "Let's not waste anymore time. We are professionals after all." They lead us to the second-to-last cart of the train to be dressed. We are separated by faux partitions and each stylist is in charge of one of us. Octavia works with Peeta, Flavius is stuck with Haymitch, and Venia gets me. Neither Flavius nor Haymitch are happy with the situation, but Flavius is determined to make it work.

"It's good to see you," I say to Venia as she begins to brush my hair.

"Is it?" she jests and I turn my head to look at her. "It's good to see you too, dear." It doesn't take her long to create gorgeous braids out of my hair. The style resembles the one I wore during the opening ceremony of the 74th Games. Then she forces me into a corset; it's not terribly tight but certainly uncomfortable.

"Are you sure about this?" I wheeze.

"Don't worry," she smiles as the last knot is tied and fastened. Then she moves for her portable trunk and opens it. Inside is one of the most stunning things I've ever seen. Carefully, Venia pulls out a white, strapless dress from the chest. Small diamonds have been sewn into the fabric, creating beautiful starbursts. The dress sways in her arms due to the natural motion of the train. I realize the diamonds are colored—varying from red to yellow—as the light reflects off them.

"Venia…" I'm at a loss for words.

"This is the last project that Cinna and I worked on before his death. Luckily, I was able to finish it on my own," she smiles as she holds up the dress. "Oh, how I miss him, Katniss."

"Me too," I step off my stool and hug her tightly.

"Quickly, we don't have much time for adjustments." Venia brings the bottom of the dress above my head and arms and pulls down, allowing me to easily slip into it. After it settles around the corset—covering it entirely—she slowly circles me. With a needle and thread, she makes quick changes to help it fit better, relieving me from the tightness of the corset. "And here we are." She pulls out a mirror from behind a cupboard, and I'm completely stunned. Once again, I'm the girl on fire.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is Appalachia. I was in two Hunger Games. I survived. Panem has changed and continues to change. I am in love with Peeta. President Paylor has asked for our help. Now, we've arrived at the Capitol…_

The entire ceremony was a blur and a whirlwind of colors, lights, and sounds. I was frightened about returning to the Capitol, but with Peeta and Haymitch by my side, I was able to keep my composure and confidence. The beautiful dress also helped. Instead of being greeted with torches and screaming, the citizens of the Capitol welcomed us back with open arms like old friends. It was as if the rebellion had never happened. They were actually happy to see us return, to see _me_ return.

There were banners waving in the cold wind, instruments blaring wonderful music, and people chanting our names. I couldn't contain myself; I started crying on the spot from pure joy and relief. Peeta wrapped his arms around me and Haymitch put his around the both of us. Together, we moved through the crowd. Paylor had barricades set up that led to a caravan of cars that would takes us to Central—a new borough constructed at the heart of the Capitol.

The district is composed of a giant ring of buildings that wrap around the area with a large monolith at its center. However, it isn't just large, it's absolutely daunting; it towers over the area. I could only imagine the shadow it casts during the long summer days. I notice Peeta is fixated on the window. I place my hands on his knees and lean over to catch a glimpse. There are trees running along the stone road with light fixtures dangling from them. The way the lights blink and flash reminds me of shooting stars.

"It's incredible," Peeta whispers in my ear.

"We're here," Effie informs us as the caravan comes to a stop at a cul-de-sac. Several guards dressed in white tuxedoes approach the cars. I can see their synthetic armor protruding from the collar of their shirts. They open the door of the car for us and give us stern nods as we pass them. I attempt to give them a soft smile to display my gratefulness, but I'm never good at it.

"Are you ready?" Peeta mutters as he takes my hand in his.

"I think so." My confidence wavers and my grip tightens.

"Don't worry," he assures me. "I'm right here."

"Haymitch," I hear Effie shout. "Manners!" I turn my head quickly and catch a glimpse of him hugging the guards and trying to offer them a drink from his silver flask. The guards decline with giant smiles and awkward laughs. We're not even inside yet and he's already tipsy.

"I guess some things will never change," Peeta jokes. I simply nod, but I don't tell him that I'm happy they don't. For some reason, I find a drunk Haymitch much more comforting than a sober one.

Paylor and her personal guards are waiting for us at the top of the steps. She is certainly dressed for the occasion, but the coat she dons reminds me of her military garb. It's a dark shade of brown with green fringe and a number of shiny medals decorate her left breast. She appears to be far more comfortable with it on. Beneath her shroud is long, light blue dress. It's simple, but I like it.

"Welcome back," she greets us warmly.

"It feels strange being back," Peeta says for the both of us, but I notice he doesn't say "good."

"I know you both don't exactly have fond memories of this place," Paylor acknowledges our true feelings. "However, I hope this place can grow in to a second home, for the both of you."

"Thank you," I reply.

"Good luck in there," she says with a smile and nods to her guards. Each guard grabs a handle on the double doors and pulls them open. Behind the doors is a giant lobby that has been repurposed for the party. The ceiling has been altered to resemble the morning sky. The clouds are shifting and moving, thus bringing the ceiling to life. It's absolutely gorgeous. Across from us, near the north wall, is a giant stage occupied by a large orchestra. To the left, along the wall, are numerous tables filled with various meats, pastries, and beverages—I already know where my first stop is. Opposite of the food—past the dance floor—are large fire pits surrounded by chairs and sofas.

The room almost goes completely silent when the guests notice us standing at the front doors. I can't tell if I'm smiling or have an expression of terror on my face, but it doesn't matter when they begin to clap and cheer. I don't have the same reaction from before when we first arrived, but I am grateful that they're not calling for my head. Peeta's grip tightens as he leads me through the lobby. We're greeted by dozens of people, most of whom I don't remember. However, I pretend to be overjoyed by their presence.

"I knew this would be your first stop," Peeta tells me as we finally reach the food tables. It's nothing like the stalls at the Hob. The tables are covered with similar delicacies from around Panem; but the presentation, the quality, and the smells are on completely different levels.

"You know me so well," I tease him.

"I hope he would," a voice called out to us. I turn around and met by an elderly man, probably in his sixties. His silver hair is slicked back and his beard is trimmed neatly. The suit is deep velvet red and tailored perfectly to his slim form. White stripes are sewn along the edges of his lapel and cuffs. The buttons of his jacket and cuff links appear to be made of stainless steel. He smells of a strange combination of mothballs and vanilla. "Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark. My name is Alistair Gilroy."

The elderly man extends his frail hand and Peeta is the first to shake it—I'm thankful he takes the lead. "Hello."

"What do you do here?" I ask him carefully as I take his hand. It's thin and bony, but it also emits a strange heat.

"I work with President Paylor. I'm her Secretary of Intelligence." I instinctively pull my hand away and try to hide my discomfort. I don't understand why, but I immediately distrust him. Haymitch's warnings run through my mind. _Is he an ally? An Enemy? Both?_

"What does that entail?" Peeta wonders as he peruses the pastries and hands me a small plate of tiny muffins. The sweet aroma manages to calm my nerves and rejuvenate my burning appetite.

"It's quite boring, really," he says casually. "I just read reports and listen to complaints."

"It must keep you busy," Peeta replies.

"Sometimes," Alistair smiles. "Miss Everdeen, that is quite a gown." I look down at the stunning dress. The cascading light from the fake sun reflects off diamonds and creates a natural glow that resembles fire.

"Thank you," I reply plainly. Before Alistair can say another word, he's interrupted by a familiar voice. _His_ voice.

"Alistair!" Plutarch shouts happily and gives the man a great hug. "Oh, Katniss. Peeta. How are you two doing?" The muffin crumbles into tiny pieces in my clenched fist. Peeta notices and softly takes my hand into his. He attempts to release the smashed dessert from my fingers, but he's met with great resistance. While he's focused on my hand, I'm trying my hardest to keep myself from lunging and clawing at the man involved with Prim's death. However, saying he's solely responsible wouldn't be fair since the woman that gave that order is dead. There's a lot of blame to go around. Every breath he takes is one that Prim should be taking right now, and that makes me furious.

"Leave the lovebirds alone, Plutarch." Haymitch comes to the rescue once again. He stumbles forward and braces himself against the table, knocking a bunch of plates and pastries. I also catch a quick wink from him, and I'm relieved. The old drunkard is always looking after me. I smile back.

"Haymitch, it's wonderful to see you." Plutarch tries to mask his disgust with a fake platitude.

"Ah, Haymitch Abernathy," says Alistair.

"And you are?" Haymitch responds with a burp. I try to stifle my laughter with my muffin-covered hand. Peeta shoots me a look. His eyes tell me that he's disappointed but understands. I reply to his glance with a sheepish grin.

"Alistair Gilroy," he replies. "Secretary of Intelligence."

"Oh, so I'll be kissing your ass from now on," Haymitch kids as he grabs a sprinkled bun.

"Haymitch, please," Plutarch responds with a low growl. I can see the flicker of anger in his eyes, and this causes my rage to build up once more. However, it subsides when I feel the tips of Peeta's fingers lightly graze the curve of my back.

"I'm only joking with the man," Haymitch laughs and takes the whole bun with one bite. "We're all friends here, aren't we?" He says one thing, but implies another. We've just returned to the Capitol, and he's already playing the game—quite well I might add.

"It's okay, Plutarch," Alistair assures him. "I'm very familiar with Mr. Abernathy's antics. Your fall at the 74th Reaping is quite… infamous…"

"Please," Haymitch says. "Call me Haymitch. My friends do."

"But you don't have any friends," I say shamelessly. There is an awkward moment of silence between the five of us. The tension begins to aggregate, but Haymitch soon alleviates it.

"You've got a point," Haymitch laughs. Then the rest of us join him, but it's obvious that Plutarch and Alistair are uncomfortable with our form of jest. Unfortunately for them, I don't care since I'm having fun watching them squirm under their awkwardness.

"Care to share a dance with me?" Peeta asks as he hands me a napkin to clean my hand. I agree to take him up on his offer, of course. Not only do I get to dance with him, but it's also a reason to leave Plutarch and Alistair. Peeta guides me to the center of the dance floor.

"Thanks," I whisper to him as he places his hand along the side of my hip.

"Are you okay?" he wonders. "I'm sure this has been difficult for you." We begin to sway smoothly in rhythm with the soft music.

"I wanted to hurt that man, Peeta. Maybe even kill him." I try to control my anger.

"And I wouldn't blame you." He brings me closer into his arms, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

"To be honest," I whisper to him, "I still can't believe we're back here."

"I know the feeling," he responds. We dance in silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying each other's company and physical embrace. "What do you think about Alistair Gilroy?"

"Isn't it obvious? I don't trust him."

His eyes slightly widen in surprise. "You sound like Haymitch," Peeta replies. I know he doesn't mean it to sound horrible; he's simply speaking his mind. However, I'm still taken aback by his response.

"What, do you trust him?" I raise my head from his shoulder.

"I don't know," he tries to explain, fumbling with his words. "We just met the man, and you're already suspicious of him. I think we should at least give him a chance or we'll never make friends."

We don't speak about it for the rest of night, but I repeat Peeta's words in my head. I'm allowing my confusion and paranoia to drive my mistrust. He's right, however, that doesn't mean I'll change my mind about Alistair Gilroy. I've only just met the man, but I know he's a threat to Peeta and me. I just can't put my finger on it. Hopefully Haymitch will be able to enlighten me tomorrow.

The following morning, I wake up early and get dressed in a loose shirt and pants. I leave Peeta to enjoy his slumber and head to the dining room of the mansion. Downstairs, I find Effie and Haymitch attempting to enjoy a decent breakfast together. The long table is covered with platters of eggs, potatoes, meats, and breads. It still amazes me that the Capitol can provide so much food for so few people.

"Good morning," I greet them as I take a chair next to Haymitch.

Haymitch grunts at my presence. Effie—on the other hand—replies with a warm smile. "How was the party? Did you enjoy it?"

"It was fine," I respond as kindly as possible. "Did you like it?"

"It was quite exciting," she says as she applies a spread to her toast. "It's been a while since I've attended such an event."

"I'm surprised they let you through the front doors," Haymitch jokes.

"And I'm surprised you didn't pass out on the floor," Effie hisses. Then she focuses her attention back to me. "Katniss, you have to eat something. You have a long day ahead of you."

"I don't know," I admit to her.

"Would you prefer something be made for you?" Effie waves to someone behind me, and I turn around to see a young girl standing in a black dress and a white apron. I'm a little ashamed that I didn't notice her. The girl doesn't look any older than I was when I volunteered for Prim during the Reaping. However, she is tall for her age—standing at just a few inches below six feet. Her hair is a dark red and her eyes are a deep blue. If it weren't for her Oceana tanned skin, I would have assumed she was from the Capitol. She stops next me and greets me with a kind bow.

"Hello," I reply and extend my hand to her. "I'm Katniss." At first, she's puzzled by my gesture, but quickly takes it happily.

"Her name's Helena," Haymitch tells me.

"Oh, well, it's nice to meet you," I say, and she nods again.

"Just tell her what you would like, dear," Effie says.

"Okay." I muse over what I would like to eat for breakfast. "Can you make warm oatmeal with blue berries?" Helena nods once more and leaves for the kitchen. "Why doesn't she speak?"

"Helena's deaf," Haymitch informs me. A giant knot forms in my stomach as I realize my stupidity—not only did I ignore her but I was completely ignorant of her condition.

"The poor girl was born that way," Effie chimes in. "It's so sad."

"She's a very strong girl," he corrects her. "And she's a renowned chef throughout the Capitol. That's why she was assigned as our personal cook."

"Great," she says sarcastically. "Now the poor girl has to wait on you." Haymitch merely laughs at her insult. Before I can intervene, Helena returns with a small bowl of oatmeal. She carefully places it in front me and tries to return to her corner. Before she can, I pull at her wrist and she freezes in place. Helena carefully turns around and gazes at me for a long moment.

"No. Please, join us." Even if she can't hear me, I say it anyways. However, she is capable of reading my lips and sits down in the chair next to me. After becoming comfortable with her new situation, she leans forward and grabs the pitcher of orange juice and pours a cup for herself. She lifts it up to her nose to smell before taking a drink.

"She certainly loves her fruits." Haymitch chuckles.

"How does she communicate?" I ask Haymitch, but I'm careful so Helena can't see my lips. I'm not trying to be cruel; on the contrary, I simply wish not to further offend her.

"Show her," he gestures at her. I turn my head to Helena and watch her pull out a notepad from a pocket inside her apron. With a pen at hand, she awaits to answer any of my questions.

"How old are you?" I ask her.

"_15_," she scribbles onto her notepad.

"How long have you been here?"

"_3 years_," she answers. I'm at a loss of words. Helena was the same age as Prim when she was brought to the Capitol to be a chef. Forced to cook for these people—it's absolutely sickening. Then I recall the rebellion. This poor girl was forced to live through all the horrors by herself, far away from her family and friends. The fighting and the bloodshed she had to witness. The Muttations. The bombs. Tears begin to build up in my eyes. "_It's okay._" It's as if she can also read my mind.

"Hello?" Peeta greets us when he walks through the archway. It's obvious that he just woke up by his lacking appearance—his hair is a mess and his clothes disheveled. Helena tries to stand so she can attend to his needs, but I stop her and tell her it's okay. He can serve himself. Peeta situates himself across from me, and we all enjoy a breakfast together.

"What do you think about Alistair Gilroy?" I ask Haymitch after taking the last bite of my oatmeal. Even though we had barely finished breakfast, Helena had left us to prepare for lunch. Peeta stops fiddling with his apple core while Effie stops cleaning her lips with her cloth napkin.

"He smells like mothballs," he jokes, and I try to hide my smile.

"I don't like him," Effie says, to our surprise. "What? The man is a fiend and a trickster."

"However, he is one of the most powerful men in Panem." Haymitch fixes himself a cup of coffee. "Let's not be too rash and turn him into an enemy."

"I understand," I say, and try to change the subject. "What are we doing today?"

"You're not coming with me if that's what you're wondering," Haymitch answers me.

"What do you mean?" I respond.

"You'll be joining Effie at her ambassador's meeting."

"When's the meeting?" Peeta asks Effie.

"We'll be leaving in half an hour," she says and leaves to get prepared. Peeta and I then share a quick look and realize we need to get dressed as well. We'll be sitting in a room with some of the most influential people in Panem after all. As Effie says, "We have to dress to impress." Another rule I plan to follow while we're here.

The lobby is completely different when we return to Central. The ceiling has been restored to its marble surface; the food tables have been replaced by counters with attending staff; the stage has been torn down; and the fire pits have been removed. It's amazing that they can make so many changes in so little time. Peeta and I follow close behind Effie down the main hallway of the building.

"Here we are," Effie stops in front of the double doors. "Remember, manners." She opens the doors to the assembly room. The room is relatively large, and 14 tables—each with its own title card—are orientated into a large circle. The set up is meant to convey equality and cooperation, but I guess they're willing overlook the fact that the Capitol's desk is elevated. Effie takes a seat at Appalachia's table while Peeta and I sit in the chairs set up behind her.

"It looks like we're ready to begin," the moderator sitting at the Capitol's table announces and hits his gavel. "Unfortunately, Districts 2, Columbia _(District 6)_, and 13 will not be joining us today."

Effie leans back slightly to inform us of the situation. "The ambassadors from District 2 and 13 haven't shown up since the meetings started two months ago," she whispers. "Each is still resentful of the other and refuses to attend meetings as long the other does. Thus, both don't in case the other shows up."

"So much for unity," Peeta mutters.

"Wow, Effie," I whisper. "This is your first meeting, and you already know all this stuff."

"It's politics," she replies and returns to her table.

"Also, Ambassador Trinket, I've been informed that you have some special guests with you?" the moderator asks.

"Yes, Moderator Perry," Effie says with a cheerful tone. "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark." Peeta and I stand up to give quick waves. Some of the ambassadors greet us with warm smiles while others barely acknowledge our presence.

"I assume they're here to be used as leverage?" the ambassador from District 5 jokes.

"Don't worry, Ambassador Humphrey, I wouldn't dream of it. Also, based on what the waiting staff told me last night, it doesn't take much to _leverage_ you." Peeta and I share shocked glances. Where has this Effie been? I know she's grown used to jesting with Haymitch over the years, but I've never witnessed her do it with someone else. I'm quite in awe of her.

"Enough," Moderator Perry intervenes before things can escalate. "First order of the meeting is the attacks."

"Wait, we weren't the only ones that were bombed?" I ask Effie, and she nods silently.

"According to the reports, five districts were attacked by unknown terrorists." He glances over the files in front of him.

"District 10 may need military support," the ambassador says. "We simply do not have the man power to secure our borders."

"What is that supposed to mean, Ambassador Strong?" the ambassador from Dakota _(District 9)_ asks. "Are you saying the terrorists came from my district?"

"Of course not, Gladys," Strong replies angrily. "However, I am confident my people had nothing to do with the textile fires. We lost a lot of good people that day."

"It's Ambassador Bennett when we're in session," she hisses. "You can't seriously believe no one from your district was involved."

"Why shouldn't I?" he asks.

"One of our own was involved in the bombing of the medical factories," Effie says, supporting Bennett's statement.

"That means nothing," Strong infers. "It just means your district is full of traitors." His remark cuts deep, but I hold my tongue because it's not my place to argue. I would simply make things worse for Effie.

"Quiet," Perry shouts, slamming his gavel. "I will not tolerate your insults, Ambassador Strong. If your district requires military support, we will send it."

"Thank you," Strong replies with a smug expression on his face.

Effie then takes advantage of the solemn silence to make her own request. "Appalachia requests additional funds in rebuilding the medical factories." There is a loud groan shared among some of the ambassadors.

"Why do you need medical factories when you have the coal mines?" Humphrey wonders. "To be honest, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with Panem's medical supplies being produced by miners." Strong and the ambassador from District 7 share a cruel laugh with Humphrey. I'm tempted to interrupt them, but I feel Peeta's hand on mine. At first, I think he's trying to hold me back, but I realize he's actually trying to restrain himself. There is real anger in his eyes.

"And last time I checked, Appalachia has been fuelling your generators for the last century. Afraid your district will become obsolete once mine has moved on?" Effie asks. I can hear the strain in her voice as she attempts to adhere to her "manners." The woman continues to amaze me.

"Don't worry. It won't be like that for long," Humphrey responds.

"And by that time, we'll happily be making the much needed medical supplies for Panem," Effie counters and manages to shut the ambassador from District 5 up. The next three hours aren't nearly as exciting. The ambassadors manage to keep their cool and Perry ends the meeting with a knock of his gavel.

"Effie, you were amazing in there." I'm finally free to speak my mind.

"Thank you, Katniss." She's truly touched by my words. "It really does mean a lot."

"What's next?" Peeta asks her.

"You'll be joining President Paylor for lunch," Effie tells us.

"You won't be joining us?" I'm actually disappointed by this news.

"No, dear," she smiles. "Not this time. I have much work to do." Effie saunters to the lobby, but stops for a moment. "And remember your manners."


End file.
